When you share a name with a famous celebrity, the road is paved for many a strange and wonderful experience. Walking into a room of unfamiliar faces, you never need a conversation starter because you’re it. The moment you are introduced, whoever you really are takes the back seat to the most highly revered fictional character that your name is associated with. The pressure is off, there’s no ice to break. In fact you don’t have to do much talking at all. The mere mention of your name brings smiles to the surface and inspires laughter, fond memories and story after story.
Growing up Carrie Fisher seemed to suit me. It was like becoming an instant princess without the annoyance of sparkly nail polish. Better yet, I was an intergalactic princess who ruled over an entire planet and knew her way around a blaster. I was a risk taker, a girl who took matters into her own hands and didn’t wait around for the boys to save the day. I spent way more time in battle than on the throne. And I could always be counted on for a witty remark or snappy comeback.
I loved being called Princess Leia. I never bought into the prim and proper, poofy-dress concept of a princess anyway. I mean sure I took ballet for seven years, but I was no ballerina. My true self was always a bit more rough and tumble than that. After school every day I dove straight into homework in anticipation of changing into my “play clothes” and rolling around in the grass with my dogs. I was the girl who made her way to the world of make believe with a good book instead of a dress up closet.
As I grew older my name association grew more entertaining. There’s nothing quite like coming home from school to answering machine messages from adoring fans requesting an autographed 8×10 glossy. I certainly couldn’t complain about opening the mailbox to find all of the bills addressed to my parents while the fanmail was addressed to me. I endured a fair share of teenage awkwardness when the boys at school would ask where I kept my slave girl outfit. But overall I would say being Leia was a pleasure.
Of course we all know that the celebrity Carrie Fisher was not Princess Leia. As much as we’d sometimes like it to be, fiction is not fact. Carrie was a woman, a human being whose inward battles were far tougher than those she faced on the big screen. She struggled with drugs, alcohol, relationships, and her own mental health. She was born to celebrity parents and grew up in “the business” but her life was not one that she or anyone else would consider to be that of a princess.
Carrie Fisher’s life was real, not royal. Ironically her indubitably un-royal presentation is what I admire most about her. She was about as authentic as they come. With intelligence and humor Carrie used her time in the limelight to illuminate the dark places that we all find ourselves in. She embraced the whole of who she was, the light and the darkness, inviting all of it to enrich her work in ways that nothing else could. She became Carrie Fisher the writer, producer, comedienne, and advocate. Through it all she never lost her fire, bringing an edge and a wisdom to the world that is so hard to find in our current state of make-believe reality.
It’s hard to say goodbye to a person who shares your name. Carrie Fisher’s death somehow makes the inevitability of my own mortality a little more clear and constant. At the same time it reminds me of the importance of legacy. I wasn’t named for her, I never met her, we share no common lineage that I’m aware of, yet my distinct connection to both Carrie and Leia has left a welcome imprint on my life. And as the in-your-face-princess who fought valiantly for justice and peace in the universe, Carrie’s life will continue to inscribe itself on each new generation.
“If my life wasn’t funny it would just be true, and that is unacceptable.” ~ Carrie Fisher, 1956-2016
Carrie Joy(ful) 